Davey King struggled to get his medical gloves on the right fingers as he bounced around in the back seat of the Engine. The siren only droned on incessantly, doing nothing to assist in arousing his sleepy state. He checked his watch. As his dry eyes strained to gain clarity, the shaky, dim glow showed 2:12 a.m. The speaker in his right ear blared new information, stating that the car accident they were responding to was considered to be a major accident meaning critical injuries and possibly even trauma deaths. Davey looked at his new partner, Chris Parker, with a frown of disgust at the thought of working at this crazy scene. Davey had been to this intersection before and had worked some nasty accidents there. Somebody undoubtedly ran the stop sign at the two-way stop intersection.They got their assignment and with a big sigh, Davey stepped off the truck, praying, "Be with me on this one, Lord." Turning to face the scene, it was difficult to process all of the pieces of this picture. Already a large crowd of bystanders had gathered on this dark, moonless night. There were no street lights in this area to illuminate to any great detail, but the whole scene looked more like a tornado had ripped something to shreads. There were things scattered everywhere. Two vehicles were involved in a collision that now left them seventy five yards apart. A one ton, white work truck sat sideways in the intersection, front end accordioned into half of its original length. One headlight was still on, pointing towards the other car, a passenger sedan in the borrow ditch suffering from a side impact. This would be Engine Seventeen's vehicle to work on. Bystanders stormed the fire truck as the firemen were grabbing the necessary hand tools and hydraulic "Jaws of Life". Their panicked voices bothered Davey more than their informational content. Most of the time, the untrained eye was inaccurate anyway, so Davey usually had to see for himself how bad things really were without getting worked up for nothing. This time their tone seemed to fit, painting a seriously grim situation. The first thing Davey actually identified among the strewn parts and pieces of metal and plastic was a baby's car seat on it's side in the grass. He willfully hoped against his intuition. Wading through plumbing pipe and tools thrown from the work truck, he approached the passenger car, hoping his suspicion was false. A gruesome sight lay before him as he surveyed the contents of the car. An average sized man behind the wheel leaned with an unnatural bend over the console. A small, adult-framed woman was wadded up under the mangled right side interior where the seat and dashboard had somehow come together from the impact. That right side of the car seemed to be crushed in almost to the centerline of the now taco-shaped vehicle. Only her upper body was visible. The back seat area was in shambles. Davey's eyes had a hard time discerning all the different identities of the things littered about. Soon more and more toddler toys and baby care goods came into focus under the narrow beam of his flashlight. There, among the disheveled contents was the horrifying sight of blood-stained newborn skin in the floorboard behind the driver. Davey tried the door to find it jammed. He then made himself thin and slithered through the back window opening of the car. Only the broken shards of glass sparkled in the night. He hated the smell of these scenes. The heated gas and dust of airbags, battery acid, engine oils, anitfreeze, and melted rubber mixed with human scents emitted from ruptured skin. He gently but surely picked up the baby to right its posture into a natural position. Its brokenness left no rigidity to the baby's form. A pulseless brachial artery confirmed the impact had taken its life. Reaching into the front seat area, Davey ritualistically double-checked for pulses what his experience had already described as obvious death. Sure enough, there was nothing. There was no life in this crumpled up coffin. The stillness was interrupted by the sounds of a struggle in the distance. Davey's head turned to witness the driver of the work truck that struck this car was fighting the emergency crews with an inebriated fury. The night of saturating his blood with alcohol was making him completely unaware of the reality around him. Davey watched as a policeman skillfully took the man down to the pavement and put a knee to the back of his head to hold him motionless. Davey's energy seemed to drain from him as his head hung down. Rage fought against sadness, leaving him numb and cold. "Why, Lord?" he sobbed. "Why this useless killing as the wicked goes unharmed? Where is the justice in that, God?"He waited for the voice to respond, but this time only thick darkness filled his head. The Voice's absence left an eery emptiness. The silence from heaven to hell. Never had he felt so alone as right now in this mobile grave. Where was God in this place? What about His plan for these people? What about their dreams? Why, God? These questions grieved his soul as he buried his face in his hands, barely able to breathe. On the way back to the station, no one talked, not a word uttered about the call. Each member somberly watched other motorists happily and loosely drive around them without a care in the world, and riding the high of a night on the town. One group of young women hung out of their windows, yelling and catcalling at the sight of the firetruck They didn't have a clue what had just happened. One of the four firemen on that truck intended to turn in their badge when they got back to their station home. They were done with this job. Davey King had had enough. 